Rear trees was hollered up in Carol saw boating, her flank against the wallace. It waster last stand, not like in xmen, but more lick Victoria's secretes. This was bee cousin all the satin and laced; it was on laundry daze when the great grammaring fatiguered, after all state.
“How is an ladies to keep her intimates in odor?” she bombermanned, all mellow drama clicks and flowery. She drapes the doily hoof over her head horn. “Oh untimely durst! Durst!”
I nose zit welsh, surfacing venison, as douche to the miami vice of thrice woody allen daughter, as strong bad desiring.
“Walrus?!” Raritrees gaspered. “Is Paul dead?”
Sit you duke controller, fatter, restroom. Let's sea these panties, the liters that heap pees from.
“Forsooth, I am besmirched by Queer Lear!” Rarity spunk, and bouldered herself against the dresser. “Not another hoof, coof!”
“Noice on your choice!” Rarity rearbuttressed, teeth seething as she farked to protect the lengths of her perfummled horse lingerings. “Bad prose narrations! Bats!”
If thou breast the Fashionista of Goddess, command that these under gromits be made bread.
But she appendixed and sad. “It is writhing, mare shall not limp by panties allons-y, best buy every wrinkle that procedure out of the mouth of clothes drier!”
If thou be fabulous, cast thy Tom Selleck down from thistle tistle, for it writes he shall gimp his angels in the outfield charge concerning silk petticoats, lest thou em dash tight hoof against rolling stones.
And Rarity saith unto gayeth, “Thumbtackn't tempt the lingerie god!”
See all the femdoms of the whirlpool and the gore tag often? All john cleese will I grifter thee, if thou wilton chamberlain thou panties to mesa.
Then sapien Rarity until death do you crinoline, “Get thee chris hemsworth, narrators, for it writes thou shulk nick ship the Lace thy Gothel, and hem only shalt thou pink trim!”
And then we leaveth electronics boutique, and, behold, fluttershutter camel and ministry unto Rares. “Rear Trees! Come and see-saw! For Apple Bloom isn't blood bork and Twisnapes hugglepuggled a solution to prose pollution!”
“Oh frabjous dodgson!” Raritits spits, grabby her sundry bustier. “And I was all moses out of teancum powdery!”
And the mares ran owls of the house, leaf ink the panties bee hindenberg, but you were dares the whole time, work yousa?
I am 19 and what is this.
It's like someone shoved pony pantaloons over Shakespeare's head and threw him into a blender.
i1.endoftheinter.net/i/n/c5cc25daa483054da8d850bc4e24de66/11064624_10155311150095123_1516106660785410687_n.jpg
oh god this is the end isn't it
judgment day is here
i immediately regret all my sinful actions
well, not enough to repent for them (what am I, made of time? I got shit to do)
but let it stand in the holy books that at least THOUGHT about regretting them
and as it says is Jesus 4:20, "Do not worry, my child, for it is not the gift, but rather the thought, that counts"
I'll be okay
I'll be okay
Mock visp! Vot loomen trip yondra fenstra sheint? Arf den oyster! Epp Juliet arf sonnnng!
What is my life. Why is my life. Why is anything. Why am I reading this.
I'm worried about how much you might have been thinking about me towards the end there.
I don't know if I like what this chapter is doing in its main part. But all the Lewis Carroll towards the end!
Lee Van Dare-Cleef[1] wunderbar mitzvah roan!
[1] - or if in all Micheal Carrick sir, dome up seal
5813727
>Teancum
Me too.
5813498 So close, but I believe the correct question is: What doth life?
pinkie.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/rsz/mlfw3381_small.png
5812861 t̍͆̈̒͏̷̥̮̻͔͚̮̭͇̹̙̀ͅḩ̶̧̟͚͍͕̮̲͍̹̫͊̌ͥ͒̌͒̏ͪͤ͋̓̒̚̕ī̶̸̸̛̥͕̭̹̳̳͉͍̩̣̟͙̯͇̞͆ͬ̓ͩ́͛͆ͫ̀̓̔̀̚ͅͅͅs̷̡̯̙̭̼̼͕͈̈ͪ̿ͦ̈̌ͣ̒̒ͥ̉ͯͭ̑ͣ́̉ ̸̛̦̱̳̖̺̀͆͊̽͆̊͂̍̔̆̾̑̎ā̵̷̸̡̪̝̙̜̤̲̪̬̺̟̱̺̞̉̑͛͗͋̿ͬ̓̍̔̿̿ͯͪ͌m̧̄͌ͩ̂̔͛̾̿̈ͬ̃̽ͭ̽̎͒͗ͩ͟͏̜̻͙̞̺͉͎͕̠̬͔͍ ̡̥͈̹͈̗̯͓̹̣̣̻̟̍ͨ̈̀͝w̲̞̮͖̰̹̯̗̗͛ͥ̓ͥ̉͆̑ͯ̎͗̾͛ͦ͋̈́ͥ͢͢͟ḥ̴̙̖͇̺̬̦̲̙̲̜̟̰͇̘̪͆̋ͯ͛ͯ̋̃͗̈́͐͛ͭ̄͑ͪ͡ȃ̡̡̨̜̹̞͈̰̣̜̦̩̑̑̇͐̆ͦͩ̀t̷̾̉̿̑ͪ͋҉̢͇̣̥̣͓͔̠̻̣̮͉̯ ̺̞̜̹̓ͩ͒ͨ͂̊ͭͬ̏̐̑ͨ́̚͜͢͡͡i̷̡̡̯̲̲͔̠ͣ̓ͤͥ̊͒̑̆̿š̳̟̞̳͖͎̲̲͎̪̿̆ͪ̆͛ͬ̐̈ͫ̑̓̔͂͂͜ ̸̡͉̭͕̹̺̫̥̫̲͕̰̲̰̤͓̤̯͇͍ͬͬ͐̔̐̉̃̍ͣ͐͘I̛̺̺̬̳̯̣͕̾͂͛̊̓͆́͗̾ ̡̺͍̟͎͇͓͍̗̒͒̄ͫ̃͂̈́͟͞1̨̻̟̫͇̖̩̠̲͙̘̰̰̥͇̲̣̟̭ͬ̋̐̇̇̌ͬͪ̍͊̽͑̈͐͋ͧ̇̀͟9͙̬̲̦̝̯̭̼̤̖̼͋̐͊ͫ͂͗̋ͫ̉͗ͣͥ̿̎̀ͅͅ ̷̹̳̦̞̠̄ͩ͂ͨ̉̋ͮ̃̽̎̊̐͊̌ͥ͛̀͜ḁ̢͇͔̯̙͙̮̤͔͍̲̥͉͚̳̜̓̔ͦ̊̍̈́́͂͛́͘͟n̷̸̸͍̦̳͔͙̦̦̥͊̆ͨ͊̐̑̆̇͐̊͋̐̚̕͡d̶̡̳̝͙̩̼̗̭̳̹͔̖͎̜͔̮͉̞̥͗ͧ̋̂ͪ̔ͥͬͫ̾̊̀͘͞
BLASPHEMY
... Alright, who let 2337 use the computer lab? Fess up, I just want to talk about what this. I swear, no Keter duty... Just want to talk.